


Canes Venatici

by Partnachklamm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Partnachklamm/pseuds/Partnachklamm
Summary: It's for the best, he repeats to himself, in this old club room covered with dust and filled with books that write to what's beyond the sky. It's for the best, even if Bokuto doesn't believe him.





	1. Red Giant

“Bokuto-kun, are you coming with us to karaoke?”

 

He stills but doesn’t look up from his lunch and for once in his almost completed second year dreads his seat position next to the hallway windows. 

 

“Mm, yeah, guess so,” the footsteps are closer now. “Who’s going?”

 

This was a location of convenience and efficiency. Straight shot to the door for the days he forgot his lunch and could beat the rush to the cafeteria. Limited the amount of small talk and necessary greetings of “Good morning” when he’d rather not maneuver through desks and classmates every day. Quickest exit to practice.

 

“Ohshima, Akkun, Minori,” Akaashi misses the girl list a few names. He’s not really paying attention. He’s hoping if he focuses enough of his energy into the last morsels of rice clinging to the corners of his bento box he can possibly morph invisible from the sight of the window and maybe then—

 

“Akaashi.”

 

Well, so much for that.

 

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi looks up in time to see Bokuto’s hand grip the edge of the sliding pane. Don’t turn your head, he wills himself. Don’t look at him. 

 

“I need something from you.” Akaashi imagines him, shoulders tensed and crowding into the opening. His jaw is probably forcing an angry ridge to his chin, tight like it is when he’s irritated about something but doesn’t know how to properly hide it. 

 

“Okay,” Akaashi edges slowly, reasoning. “I can meet you after school then.”

 

“No. I mean now.”

 

“Bokuto-kun,” that sweet drawl is back, stepping closer to Bokuto’s shadowing frame. Akaashi packs his lunch away. “Lunch is almost over, we should probably get back to class. Tamura-sensei hates it when—”

 

“Mari-chan,” Akaashi knows that turn of voice. He wouldn’t drag this out any longer. “I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?”

 

There’s a pause, a tsk, and with a ruffle of clothes the girl is gone, stomping surely down the hallway from where they came but moments ago. Akaashi knows he shouldn’t move, shouldn’t continue giving into Bokuto’s demands and for once and for all, stand his ground. He sits there, eyes tracing the pencil marks carved into the face of his desk. 

 

“Akaashi. Let’s go.”

 

Today, maybe—no, yes. Today would be the last time. “Alright, Bokuto-san.”

 

* * *

 

Six years ago, the Astronomy Club had about 23 active club members with Hiroto Kei as its charismatic president, a third year with both height and personality that secured status in Fukurodani as one of the most popular clubs in its history. Originally joining as a way to impress girls (“a man who knows about what’s beyond the sky is as romantic as it gets,” he argued three years prior), Hiroto found his eyes widened at not only the amount of stars in the universe, but the types and lights and finds of them all: dwarfs and giants, of course, but the blot of the black dwarf, long dead in the time its light has left and reached Earth, sitting on his mind in place of words never said. 

 

He reveled at Saturn, large enough to fit 764 Earths inside itself but light enough to rest atop the water like a feather, if there ever was an ocean broad enough for this feat. He’d spend his walks home searching for its bright glow in the dying summer sunset, found just to the corner of Sagittarius and below Scutum, peeking but visible. His peers and juniors followed suit, wowed but only to an extent. 

 

Soon, the realities of a trend came to the club when Hiroto graduated and left his less-than incentivizing successors with huge shoes to fill. Members struggled with finding the paths of stars in the night as well as finding time to keep coming to meetings. Equipment after years of use went faulty and became too expensive to repair, and within months after their adviser retired without finding a proper replacement, the Astronomy Club was disbanded two years after its peak of excitement, leaving their humble club room barren and forgotten in east wing of Fukurodani. 

 

It probably hasn’t even been wiped with a dry rag in those four years since left vacant, Akaashi assumes as he finds his face pressed into a questionable patch of the floor. 

 

“Don’t you think—hm,” He swallows a grunt as Bokuto adds a third finger to his ass. "Don’t you think your girlfriend would be upset by this?”

 

“Huh? My girlfriend?” 

 

“Shibata-senpai. From...from before.”

 

The tips of Bokuto’s digits, once stretching to make space, now curl to rub at his prostate in desperate pattern. Akaashi’s bare knees hurt on the wood.

 

Bokuto rests his forehead on the curve of Akaashi’s back. “Keep still,” he mumbles into his hip, teeth gnawing on soft skin. Akaashi hadn’t realized his hips were shaking and in the process forgets what he asked. 

 

Akaashi focuses his weight to his slumped shoulders while Bokuto shifts behind to loosen his belt. His fingers slip their way out of his entrance, puckered rim suctioning as they exit with a soft pop. Chests heaving, there’s no wasted time as Bokuto spits into his hand already wet from the little lube left, pumping his own length to both slick and still the growing tightness. He wants this to last unlike Akaashi who wishes it never started. 

 

There’s no warning and Akaashi doesn’t expect one as he pushes in, hips immediately molded tight to cheeks. It’s not enough time for Akaashi to catch the yelp that jumps from his throat nor stop his head and forearms from skidding forward against the floor. He’s too full and it hurts too much but Bokuto’s already thrusting at a fierce tempo. 

 

“Keiji...” It comes out low and Akaashi almost misses it over the constant wet slap of flesh. “Keiji.” He won’t look back, not now when he just wants this to be over; not when he’s biting into the curve of his thumb just to keep from moaning. 

 

He looks back to see the blur of Bokuto in the corner of his eye, shirt still on but ruining from sweat and a wet spot on where the lips of the hem most likely are getting caught between where Bokuto’s cock is sliding out of Akaashi. His eyes are clenched shut, mouth slack and uttering nothingness and all of what Akaashi doesn’t want to hear. His winged hair, like every time before, is remarkably still in place.

 

Akaashi closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, cock throbbing between his legs despite the pain. Please end this. Finish. Hurry. 

 

“Keiji.” Bokuto’s thrusts are wilder now, control shot and hips drifting into an arrhythmic rate. The only thing holding Akaashi up at this point is the bruising hold of Bokuto’s hands on his hips. But Bokuto’s close now. “Keiji, gonna come.”

 

Suddenly there’s one hand on his shoulder and another reaching under and around to his dick, Bokuto leaning over him with heavy pants. 

 

“Don’t!” He’s sweeping his hand back to grab at Bokuto’s but he’s swatted away easily. “Stop!” Bokuto grips at his balls before settling around his base, wet and twitching.

 

It’s too much, and Akaashi is struggling to stay silent behind his teeth. 

 

The new curve pushed into his back by the body leaning over him allows for an angle that hits at the sensitive bundle of flesh deep inside him with every thrust all the while Bokuto pumps his cock in poor rhythm. He can feel the sweat from Bokuto’s neck plopping on his back but tries to block it out. Akaashi ignores how Bokuto groans senselessly between whispers of his name and how it makes the heat between his legs unbearable to the point that his eyes begin to water. 

 

He wants it to end but not this way, not with him thrusting back up between Bokuto’s cock and fist and silently begging for release. With a quick swipe and twist around the tip Akaashi is coming hard, thighs shuddering and teeth clenched around a gritted moan, but Bokuto still works on his spent cock and fucks him hard from behind.

 

Akaashi feels like sobbing from it all, and finds his cheeks wet and his back on the floor before he realizes he’s passed out for a moment. It’s enough time for Bokuto to anchor his legs over his shoulder while keeping up a brisk pace with his thrusts. Akaashi realizes with what little hold he has left of his mind that the noises he hears are coming from his own mouth, soft mewling with every jump of hips against his ass. 

 

Bokuto’s shoved a hand up Akaashi’s bunched shirt, pinching at a nipple. “—And my mom misses you, ya know,” he’s been saying something or the other for a while now and Akaashi couldn’t imagine why Bokuto would ever think this was a good moment to bring up his mother but Akaashi’s too out of it to catch much nor care. “Wonders why you haven’t been around the house in a while. Heh.”

 

Bokuto bites at his calf before hands grasp around the back of his thighs to push his knees to his shoulders, folding him in half. “Whatcha think? If she saw you now,” Bokuto’s practically pistoning into him and Akaashi feels like he can’t breathe. “Her lovely...Keiji-kun.” 

 

They’re slick with sweat and cum and Bokuto has to focus to keep his hands from slipping from behind Akaashi’s knees. His moans are melding to sobs and Akaashi remembers the countless times he’s found himself on this floor, between these stacked chairs and rotting books and hidden below unwashed windows. He thinks how when Bokuto was stuttering in thrusts like this he’d always reach forward for a messy kiss and whisper “I love you” in between Akaashi’s lips right before he came and would hold him tight, hot bodies desperately trying to become one. 

 

But they haven’t kissed in almost three months and this time when Bokuto comes moments before Akaashi follows for a second time, he gives a few final full thrusts before pulling out and away from every part of Akaashi’s skin. 

 

By the time the tingling has left Akaashi’s groin and his vision has cleared of iridescent stars Bokuto has already pulled his pants up and buckled his belt but left his shirt to fend for itself, now wrinkled and splotched with sweat and cum. His tie is nowhere to be seen. Fifth period’s long passed and it’ll probably take Akaashi until dismissal to recover and clean up. 

 

March still breeds a chill from winter and Akaashi appreciates the season for it as he revels in how Bokuto looks in his blazer. He’s never wearing it properly, of course, whether it’s wrinkled from being shoved haphazardly into his volleyball bag or sleeves rolled up—”for maximum output!” he explained to Akaashi, whatever that meant, sometime a year ago— with his collar up and crinkled around his neck. 

 

Now as he pulls his arms through his sleeves, Akaashi turns on his side to face the other way and think about how his skin is cooling too soon and blinks away glassy eyes. It shouldn’t be like this. It wouldn’t be like this, if he hadn’t just—

 

No. Stop right there, he thinks. He scratches a red line into his palm, back and forth, keeping focus on the ache to ignore the missing arms around his chest and instead wondering when Bokuto will finally leave. 

 

It’s always a toss up in terms of what Bokuto will do, Akaashi has learned in the times they’ve done this over the past few weeks that his mood expectedly fluctuates but unexpectedly for the worse. Before this year began, Akaashi could count on his hand the amount of times he’s seen Bokuto angry and yet now, he’s easily lost count. 

 

Bokuto’s always been able to read a person inside and out, and despite Akaashi’s famously steely disposition, he’s almost no exception. Bokuto deals low blows and scathing jabs that leave a cold feeling in Akaashi’s chest and trembling hands. He’s never been one to censor himself regarding sensitive personal issues amongst them, Akaashi learned.

 

Akaashi still lays on the floor in quiet wait as he hears Bokuto plop somewhere behind him near the windows. 

 

“I’m not dating Mari-chan, by the way.” Akaashi tenses, not in any way up for continuing this interaction. “We’re just fucking.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

He continues to scratch at his palm, nail deepening steady divot in rhythm with his exhale. His throat feels tight and he wishes he could go home and shower.

 

“Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah?”

 

He turns over to sit up, arms around his legs, looking at how red his knees are. “Let’s stop this.”

 

Bokuto clicks his tongue. “Whatever.” From his peripheral Akaashi watches his head thump to rest against the wall under the window. “I’ll be outta here in two weeks anyways.”

 

Akaashi tries to hold his breath, hoping it will force away the building emotions twisting in his chest. He doesn’t want to think of how he still doesn’t know where Bokuto’s going to university, finding convenient excuses to change the subject or exit a conversation whenever Konoha mentioned anything regarding their retired ace. He used to be a part of those plans too, and remembered helping Bokuto narrow down choices and talk about his grandest dreams in hushed whispers in dark rooms. He thinks how their legs would lock around each other at the ankles under the covers on Akaashi’s bed while they mumbled over their worries and wants. Not anymore. 

 

“Thank you,” is what Akaashi settles with, thinking that’s the fastest way out of this nightmare, so that Bokuto can leave for good and Akaashi can grab the handkerchief from his pocket to clean himself out while he cries in solitude. But he’s still sitting there, knee propped up and burrowing his eyes into the side of Akaashi’s head when he realizes Bokuto’s not going to leave anytime soon. 

 

“One question, though.” Bokuto drawls and Akaashi forgets not to meet his eyes. “Are you ever gonna tell me why?”

 

Shit. Akaashi stills before looking back down at his knees, knowing immediately what he’s talking about. “I told you why, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Bullshit, Akaashi.” Bokuto hits his palm against the side of his leg, hard. “You said a whole bunch of stuff, yeah, and none of it really made sense. I mean, really? ‘This is what’s best,’ or whatever the hell you said. You expect me to accept that? Just move on, be on our separate ways. After two years? Keh.” 

 

He’s trying his best to keep calm and not let his voice shake. “You seem to be moving on fine.”

 

“Don’t fucking start.” Bokuto’s standing now and Akaashi looks again and is thankful that the light from the windows prevents him from seeing up at that pinched face, mouth most likely pulled into a snarl. “You knew what you were doing when you broke up with me. And now you want me to sit around, crying about it. Well I did! Okay? But— but I’m not going to let you control me like you think you do.”

 

Bokuto wipes his face and Akaashi knows he’s started crying from the way his shoulders twitch just slightly. “Okay,” he says.

 

“Is that it? Is that all you have to say?” Bokuto clenches and unclenches his fists. “Don’t you think you owe me more than that?”

 

Akaashi looks away and closes his eyes. Inhales, then exhales. He looks down to his toes. “I’ve said what I said, Bokuto-san. There isn’t anything more to say.”

 

“Fuck you.” 

 

And with that Bokuto walks around the hunched chairs and tables and leaves, door sliding open and slamming shut seconds before the dismissal bell chimes and Akaashi rests his head on his knees. 

 

* * *

 

30 million light years from Earth yet still visible from binoculars exists the Whirlpool Galaxy in its glory of dust and 150 billion stars. Also known as M51a, the galaxy is a spiraling hurricane of light and birth that finds itself molded with a smaller but still impressive dwarf galaxy by the name of NGC 5195, holding tight to the tail of its larger partner. Akaashi remembers reading in one of the notebooks piled in this abandoned club room how some scientists speculate that without the dwarf galaxy, M51a wouldn’t be in the flourished state it is: star-birthing arms outreached and kept hold of by a blot of light in comparison. 

 

Akaashi slips on his shoes and throws away his handkerchief and thinks of how at one point, when he first read that notebook, he thought of Bokuto as this twirling-armed galaxy and himself as his desperately clawing dwarf entity, helping him unveil his wings. He thinks briefly about finding that notebook so he can tear up the pages and forget about how he stumbled upon it right after his first kiss that Bokuto stole from him in a corner of this room two years ago. He wonders for a moment if there’s a way he can get Shirofuku to convince Bokuto to give her the key to this room, no questions asked, so he can eat his lunches in here next year like they used to before he ended everything. He’d finally get to cleaning it up and wear the holed sweater he stashed in the cupboard by the old equipment cases. The threadbare one, with two holes in its collar that he stole from Bokuto’s room and still smells of him after all this time. 

 

Akaashi wipes at his cheeks, sleeve now wet. He slides the door open, turns off the light, and closes it shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star placement might be a little off as it's based on last year's. 
> 
> Source for the M51a and its companion can be found here:
> 
> https://www.nasa.gov/feature/goddard/2017/messier-51-the-whirlpool-galaxy


	2. String Theory

“Ah.”

 

“What?”

 

“The key.” He patted his pockets before dumping his bag zipper-first on the floor before the door. 

 

“Bokuto-san.”

 

His hair, a horned crown of shock white, stood in impeccable form as Bokuto swept through his notebooks and pencil case and crushed paper-balls and miscellaneous mystery. Despite being the only two in the hall, Bokuto made enough noise for a crowded gymnasium. Desperate soles squeaked against linoleum, knees bent and form arched but this time not cocked for a ball but crouched over a mess in search. 

 

“Bokuto-san--”

 

“One sec, 'Kaashi!” he huffed, sounding doubly confident as he was uncertain, if possible. “I'll find it for sure.”

 

Although having already roamed the hallways of Fukurodani for well over half a year already, Akaashi was fairly certain he had yet to come across this passageway, much less knew it existed. It seemed an abbey of sorts, hosting an overflow storage room two doors down from a bathroom that smelled stagnant and of mold. There were no windows down its length, but a healthy light shown through dingy, locked classroom doors. Had this turned into a refuge for upperclassmen? Akaashi had surmised, considering he found himself dragged here by one said senior’s sweaty palm on bony wrist after their Saturday practice. 

 

“Shit.” Bokuto sat up, sweat along his hairline. “I guess I… lost the key?”

 

Akaashi stepped over him to the door. He toed at a notebook. “No, Bokuto-san. You gave me the key in the clubroom.”

 

“Oh.” Bokuto sniffed. “Aka-ashi. You should’ve said so~”

 

Akaashi still said nothing and turned the key in the lock. After all, Bokuto, the formidable wing spiker of Fukurodani, the volleyball extravaganza, the bullet of confidence, the star in Akaashi’s space, the second year who now shoved his worn belongings back into his worn bag before slipping a worn heel on a worn pencil-- Bokuto was intimidating, and Akaashi was not used to all of him quite yet. He couldn’t be sure that the words that came out of his mouth would follow in the right order, much less be the _right_ thing to say. That is to say, would Bokuto not like what he had to say? Would he tilt his head and raise his brows that way he does in wonder or would he balk and avoid him and never speak to this mere pathetic fawning first year--not that he’s ever done this, but Akaashi has had moments of projection of what will be the final straw in Bokuto tolerating his lack of emotional exertion, and it’s not a far off speculation to-- no, no. _Stop this,_ he thought.

 

Akaashi steadied his heart as he felt a hand nudge his back. “Let’s go in, let’s go in…!” Bokuto’s breath warmed his ear. 

 

He slid open the door, creaking wood. Chairs and desks formed towers of dust and metal along the corners of the walls while large, black containers bridged in between. The floor, once a checkered linoleum was now patterned with muddy shoe prints. The old club room was about the size of Akaashi’s 1R apartment and probably was just as old. Wide set windows made up the opposite wall, dinged but not inhibiting a healthy yellow dusk that shown through swept up dust. 

 

“Alrighty.” Bokuto dropped his bag along the wall before sliding the door back shut. He moved to the far corner where a locker sat and opened it--well, more of wrenched it open whilst knocking over a stack of used notebooks. “Eh, it gets stuck sometimes.” 

 

Bokuto chuckled, reaching in its dark confines while Akaashi wandered closer. He crouched down, looking at one of the fallen notebooks. Scrawled along the center read--

 

“Hercules Cluster…”

 

“Huh?” Bokuto poked his head out.

 

“Uh...sorry, it’s nothing.” He pulled the notebooks back into a neat pile and stood up, ears red. 

 

Bokuto rustled in the locker a little longer before pulling out a bundle of fabric. “Here we go!” Stepping to a comparably clean patch of floor, he unraveled the roll with a whip and lowered it to the ground. More dust and dirt flurried up from the force. “It’s an old blanket, but, eh, it’ll do. Come, come!”

 

Akaashi, a thought behind, stepped towards where Bokuto now sat plopped under the light of the windows. He’d deny he was nervous, as he folded down into a neat position, legs folded under and arms mechanical on his thighs. He’d deny that the last thing he wanted was to be alone with Bokuto, who, over the course of the 11 months and eighteen days Akaashi had known of him and the seven months and six days he had officially known him, had become more than just a shining light of guidance in his eyes. It wasn’t something Bokuto knew, and it wasn’t something Akaashi was planning to admit to himself or to the party in question either. When Bokuto had run to him earlier that morning to inform him of “the best place I know, ‘Kaashi; I mean, it’s a place only I know about and I’m going to show it to you so we can share it! Plus, I’ve got something to tell you,” he blamed his change in pulse on the movement caused in changing so quickly for practice. He didn’t think of how he avoided those golden eyes and affirmed an “okay, Bokuto-san” in order to exit those tight premises immediately to the gym, fitfully moving through the practice while his mind lingered on what was to come when Bokuto slapped the key in his hand and pulled him through the back of the school building. No, he didn’t about those things much at all. 

 

“I wish I brought snacks,” Bokuto mumbled, scratching an ear. “I get so hungry after practice. Well, whatever. What do you think?”

 

Akaashi met his eyes before he glanced around the room. “It’s…….”

 

“‘It’s…?’”

 

“........dirty, Bokuto-san. What is this?”

 

Bokuto pouted and Akaashi’s stomach leadened before the upperclassman leaned back on his palms. “Well, I found it. Okay, I didn’t necessarily find it. It used to be some old club room before the club was shut down or something and everybody moved buildings, but people were still using the room to skip class and stuff because they didn’t ask for the key back. And, so, they kept passing around the key until this girl got it and then she gave it to her junior and he gave it to me when he graduated and so, yeah. It’s mine now.” 

 

“Interesting.”

 

Bokuto smiled, all teeth. “Heh, right? I use it for naps and stuff. Or when I’m not feeling too good. Like after a bad practice or just to think. It’s not bad, right? Right?”

 

Akaashi gave a stiff blink and nod before he shifted his knees. “Bokuto-san.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You told me you had something to tell me.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Before practice,” Akaashi glanced down, around, somewhere to alleviate the pressure of Bokuto’s piercing gaze. “You said you wanted to tell me something.”

 

“Huh. Oh….OH!” Akaashi started at the volume. “I do, uh….Akaashi.”

 

“Yes?”

 

Something in Bokuto eyes shifted and he leaned forward, palms on knees and face but breaths from Akaashi. His face was set in an unfamiliar state, lips firm and lined shut. Why was he looking at him like that? Akaashi did not like this. Something told him he would not like what was to come. 

 

“You like me, don’t you?”

 

Akaashi felt like his clothes had melted off. 

 

“Huh?” He answered eloquently.

 

“I mean,” Bokuto’s eyes darted to the side before refocusing on the shell that was Akaashi. “You do, right? I’ve seen how you watch me. In practice, and at lunch, and other times, when you think I’m not watching. I didn’t really get it at first, and I asked Konoha if I was doing something wrong--which, by the way, what a mistake, don’t ask him for anything! Ugh, anyways, I think I get it now but… I’m right, right?”

 

Akaashi wasn’t sure what was right or wrong nor was he even sure what Bokuto had just said as his pulse crashed in his ears. “I….I’m sorry, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Huh?” His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

 

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t want you to…” He swallowed, willing his throat from closing. “I didn’t want you to find out.”

 

“Hah! So I was right! Wait, wha--”

 

“It’s nothing to be concerned about, Bokuto-san, so please don’t worry too much. I don’t want to affect the morale of the team.”

 

“I don’t understand--”

 

“I think, with enough time, these feelings… will go away. And if not-- if it disgusts you too much or will hinder the progress of our team, I can quit.”

 

“HEY!” Bokuto grabbed at Akaashi’s arm. “Can I talk now?”

 

Akaashi opened his eyes but couldn’t look up. 

 

“I think you’ve got it wrong,” Bokuto scooted closer. “I like you, too.”

 

“...Huh?” It was the only word Akaashi confidently knew at this point.

 

“I didn’t realize at first.” His voice was calm and considerate, head tilting to catch Akaashi’s downturned gaze. “I thought, ‘Whoa, Akaashi likes me.’ And I didn’t… hate it, ya know? I thought, it makes sense… we hang out all the time, and sometimes you’ll say something or I’ll just look at you and suddenly my chest hurts and I think, _wow_ \--but! But,” His face reddened, smile waxed.” I mean, I’ve never met someone like you, who cares so much, about, me. And I think about it all the time. So, yeah, I think me too.”

 

Akaashi gripped the knees of his trousers. “No, Bokuto-san. I think you’re just confused.”

 

“Confused by what?”

 

“By…. what friendship is.”

 

“Eh, I don’t think so,” Bokuto looked to the ceiling and coughed. “I’ve uh, def jacked off to you so I think it’s more than that. Friendship, or whatever.”

 

“..........Oh.”

 

“Oh. Wait. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

 

Akaashi looked up, plenty conflicted over how embarrassed he should feel for himself and Bokuto each but red from his ears to his neck nonetheless. Bokuto looked on sheepishly, his uniform wrinkled and collar flipped hazardly. Even in this moment, with both the most awkward minute of Akaashi’s so-far existence and Bokuto’s expected rambling, he wouldn’t choose another person to hurt his heart over. Evening beams heightened Bokuto’s horns, as stiff and confident as their bearer. Akaashi loved Bokuto and there was no way those feelings would go away with all the time to come. 

 

“What?” A rare red stay stained on Bokuto’s ears. “Is there something on my face?”

 

Akaashi let out a small smile. “No.”

 

Bokuto looked down, then up, and smiled back. His hand, still holding Akaashi arms, now tapped an abandoned rhythm on his sleeve. “Can I… do something?”

 

“Something…?

 

“Just!” Bokuto squirmed, weary. “Close your eyes, ‘kay?”

 

“Okay.” Akaashi closed his eyes. 

 

He felt a shift of the blanket under his knees before a puff of air warmed his face. Chapped lips met his own, laying just abreast. Two hands now gripped both his arms and he held his breath as Bokuto’s lips pried at his inexperienced, stiff mouth. Akaashi’s heartbeat was in his ears, the tips of his fingers tingling and mouth responding in clumsy fervor to Bokuto’s own. Knees nudged against his during what felt like minutes but only to be mere seconds. As soon as it started it ended, lips now wet and head thrumming. 

 

Akaashi opened his eyes, mouth parted. “Sorry.”

 

Bokuto, lips red and fists still gripped onto Akaashi, cocked his head. “Sorry about what?”

 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before. Sorry if it was bad.”

 

“Oh.” Bokuto’s eyes seemed to whirr. _First kiss._ “Nah, it was good. I’ll teach you.”

 

“I see.”

 

Bokuto chuckled, gave his flustered junior one more peck, then pulled them both to lean on the wall beneath the windows. “That was easier than I expected.”

 

Akaashi sighed, heart still in his ears. 

 

“Well. What do we do now?” Bokuto looked out to the room, at the spilled books and dusted crates. He felt for Akaashi’s hand, weaving fingers together. 

 

Akaashi followed his gaze. “Clean this room.”

 

“Gah, pass.”

 

“I thought you said we’re sharing this room. I’d like to have it clean.”

 

Bokuto’s face soured. “Compromise, Akaashi. Compromise! You have to do that in relationships too, ya know.”

 

Akaashi reddened at ‘relationship,’ bemused that Bokuto was winning this one through mere lack of tact-- that, or emotional manipulation. “Well, we at least need to clean this floor. It’s disgusting.”

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

Akaashi pushed up to stand and took Bokuto’s arm to pull him up as well before rolling up the blanket. One questionable mop, two more makeout sessions, and stale water for cleaner later, Akaashi considered the floor an auspicious start to a cleaner space. The sun went down and the room, once bathed in a precious glow, became cold in the edging night. Bokuto grabbed his bag and pulled the door open, beckoning Akaashi to exit. As he put the mop away, a notebook fell from the shelf within the locker. The cover was tattered, crooked and a corner was torn off, but Akaashi could still make out just enough of the title scribbled across: _Canes Vanetici._

“Akaashi, come on. I’m hungry~”

“Coming.” He fixed the cover and placed the notebook in his bag, left the room and closed the door. 

 

* * *

 

Fluorescent lights hum above. A stray bulb flickers against the intensity in the corner of the conbini from periods of once every few minutes to a staccato blitz at any particular moment, but Akaashi knows its fate has been inevitable for three years. Its the result of poor wiring, a part timer once said when Akaashi had first moved in two streets up. Another claimed the bulb was too hard to find online and couldn’t be replaced easily. The more reasonable answer, given by a cashier who had worked there for too long, claimed nobody had gotten around to it yet, and that it was always on the list of things to do-- “but why put in the effort? I mean, it works fine as it is now. What if we fiddle with it and it gets worse?” Akaashi, who had never asked in the first place in all of these encounters, would nod politely, pay, and slip away with his dinner in bag. 

 

Today, however, a ladder sits underneath, tools placed on its bottom step. Akaashi gives it a glance as he walks to the open fridges. Prepared meals are calling his name: salmon onigiri, soba, stew, karaage, pasta. His eyes rake the rows of packaged rolls and noodles and foods. Despite his current weak state, the clawing of his stomach overpowered his fatigue. No energy to cook but just enough loose change for a plastic bite, he contemplates the menu before him, as he had in this same spot for the past few days. Or weeks. Time, once a precious concept to Akaashi, passed with his disregard. 

 

His fingers tap against his trouser leg. The heatable boxes were wrapped tight but made Akaashi’s stomach twist unfavorably. He’d consumed all the types too many times. Perhaps he should settle for cup ramen. But onigiri didn’t seem too--

 

“The stew’s not too bad, but, today’s a bit too warm for it, right?” 

 

Akaashi’s fingers still. It was if he had written a list of all the people he didn’t want to cross today and dropped it for the devil to find. 

 

The looming body grabs at a package by his shoulder, bags of chips in the other hand. Despite the fight or flight running through Akaashi’s veins, Kuroo remains slouched in his ever-present attitude of jest, or mirth or whatever annoying thing you would label his trademark grin and leering tone. Akaashi was not a fan of Kuroo. It was not a hostile relationship, but there was no desire to know him more than necessary nor feel comfortable alone in his presence. His persuasive nature, rampant pranks, and cutting perception would make Akaashi narrow his eyes. But nothing made him more nervous of Kuroo now, trapped alone between a fridge and a shelf of ramen, in consideration of all events regarding Bokuto. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Akaashi says, eyes averted. 

 

Kuroo grips the fabric on his chest, chips squeezed between his elbow. “Ouch, Akaashi! How cold. No, ‘Good evening, Kuroo-san,’ or ‘Nice to see you after so, so long, Kuroo-san,’ or ‘Fancy meeting you he-’”

 

Akaashi ducks his head and steps past the boy and his antics. 

 

“Wait! Hey, hey-” a hand pulls at his sleeve and Kuroo’s chips drop to the floor. “Shit. Just wait a sec, okay?” 

 

“I’m tired, Kuroo-san.” Akaashi turns to the shelf adjacent to the fridges and grabs a cup ramen at random. “Could we do this another time?”

 

“Oh, I bet you’re tired, huh? Bokuto and you go at it like rabbits, I know.” Kuroo bends down to pick up his now crushed chips and misses how Akaashi’s fists clench tight. The ramen cup crinkles against the pressure. 

 

He pulls himself up, rearranging his food to pull out his phone. “Anyways, so glad I ran into you. I need you to call your boyfriend. He’s not answering my texts and we’re supposed to hang out tonight.”

 

Wait, what? “Wait, what?”

 

Kuroo continues to tap at his phone. “Oh, sorry. Can you _please_ call your boyfriend? Thanks.”

 

For a moment, Akaashi thought this was a cruel runaround way for Kuroo to play with him before he obliterated Akaashi for what he did to Bokuto. But now, he’s not so sure what’s going on. ”Did Bokuto-san….not tell you?”

 

Kuroo doesn’t look up. “Hm? Tell me what.”

 

“We’re not….we’re not together anymore.”

 

“Who’s not together?”

 

“Me and Bokuto.” Akaashi’s voice comes out firmly, and Kuroo finally eyes him. “Bokuto-san and I broke up.”

 

Kuroo looks down at his phone, back at Akaashi, then back at his phone and pockets it. “Huh.” His chips slip again from between his elbow, now a lost cause. “Wait, _what??_ ”

 

Akaashi’s eyes narrow. “I’m not repeating myself again.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. When did this happen?”

 

“....three months ago.”

 

“Thr--” Kuroo slaps his head, eyes squeezed shut to the ceiling. _“Three months!”_ His voice comes out in a hiss. 

 

Akaashi looks to the ground while the bulb of guilt reappears in his throat. “Sorry.”

 

“Ugh, I don’t understand. All this time, why didn’t you guys tell me? Why didn’t he say anything?” Akaashi took these questions as rhetorical before Kuroo’s searching eyes snapped to his. “What happened? Why did you break things off?”

 

“Who said _I_ broke up with him?”

 

“C’mon Akaashi, let’s not play games.”

 

Caught, Akaashi broke his gaze to focus on his shoes instead. “It’s none of your concern.”

 

Kuroo guffawed humorlessly. “Beg to fuckin’ differ. After all the shit I’ve helped you two with? After everything I’ve had to listen to these past two years?”

 

Akaashi remained silent, lips pressed together tight enough to lose color. He could feel Kuroo’s glare pressuring him to look up but he wouldn’t give in. He didn’t have the mentality left tonight to deal with this. 

 

Moments passed in discomfort. A ruffled suit turns down the aisle, confused and awkward to stumble by a clear indication of a tense interaction. As he slips by the pair, Kuroo breaks first and runs a hand roughly through his hair. “Shit, whatever. What a joke.”

 

The lump remains in Akaashi’s throat. He looks up to match Kuroo’s hardened gaze.

 

“Why am I surprised? I knew this day would come. I should’ve--” Kuroo swallows his words and takes a beat to sigh. “Nevermind. It’s over, right? You’re rid of him and all that came with. Finally got tired of him?”

 

“It’s not like that!” Akaashi could feel himself shaking at his own outburst. Kuroo’s mouth slams shut. “Don’t you dare say that. You wouldn’t understand.” He turns to leave but Kuroo’s hand caught his wrist. 

 

“What else am I supposed to say to this? Huh?” Akaashi yanks around his grip but his hold was too strong. He could feel his pulse racing as fast as Kuroo’s own. “Try me. Tell me why.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Just say it!”

 

“I-!” Akaashi pulls violently once more before going limp. The ramen cup was dented in his hand, his head pulled to the ground. “I’m slowing him down.”

 

His voice was so low Kuroo almost misses it. He steps forward, toe catching the dropped chips. “What? What do you mean?”

 

Akaashi releases a breath and deflates under Kuroo’s shadow. He’s so tired. He just wants to go home. “I told you. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

Kuroo lets go of his wrist. “...I don’t think anyone would understand that, Akaashi.”

 

Akaashi resists kicking Kuroo in the shin and running for the exit. He knows he’ll never give up. Another reason to hate him. “I’ve been watching him, all these years. Every second, day-- every moment I can get. I know what action or situation will put him in what mood and I know how much he’s grown from the moment I met him.” Akaashi looks up but not at Kuroo. “But he’s changing. And there are some things I can’t help him with. He has dreams that he’s had all his life that he’s finally reaching but...I’m holding him back. He’s making decisions about his future and he’s trying to include me in them. And it scares me. Because he hasn’t realized he can’t but I have.” Akaashi voice shudders, wet eyes flickering shut.

 

He feels Kuroo lingering despite the stillness in the air. There’s a weight off his chest and his throat is not as tight. Why did it take him so long to say all of this? Perhaps he feared the confirmation of his fears, of what had been forming bridges and walls to a solid box in his mind over the past year. But now it had escaped him in a rush, words lingering between the two.

 

Kuroo sucks in a breath. “You know Akaashi,” a small, crooked smile takes to his face. “For someone really smart, I never thought you could be such an idiot.”

 

Akaashi felt his face turn hot. Kicking Kuroo in the shins was sounding quite favorable right now. “What?”

 

Kuroo throws back his head and lets out a groaning sigh, a hand bent along his back to stretch. “You know, you go on and on and on about how much you know Bokuto and all that but, do you really know him?” 

 

Akaashi’s not amused. “What’re you trying to say.”

 

“What I’m saying is you of all people should know Bokuto can’t be controlled.” Kuroo rolls his head, neck cracking on his shoulders. “Bokuto loves volleyball. He loves it so much that he comes back to the court after every letdown, after every failed spike, after every point lost-- and he comes back stronger. And Bokuto loves you. He knows what a challenge is. You’re not one of them. If he wants it all, he’ll have it. It’s not your duty to take care of him-- it’s your duty to love him. He can handle himself. Trust your senior, dammit.”

 

Kuroo aims his smile at Akaashi but it doesn’t reach. “It’s not that simple.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Because, I--”

 

“Listen, Akaashi. Do you love him?”

 

Akaashi tilts his chin and holds his gaze. “Of course. I love him.”

 

“Okay, cool. Done deal.” Kuroo pats him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna bet you didn’t tell Bokuto all of this.”

 

Akaashi looks to the ground. “I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t make him choose.”

 

“Ugh, but he’s not--Akaashi. You need to talk to him. Before it’s too late.”

 

There was strange finality in Kuroo’s voice that told Akaashi he was missing something important. “Before graduation?”

 

“....Ah.” Kuroo’s brows knit together. “He didn’t tell you where he’s going, did he?”

 

Akaashi felt both nervous and annoyed at how this was being drawn out. “Where is he going?”

 

Kuroo sighs, eyes slipping to the floor.

 

“The day after he graduates, he’s flying out to California.” He took his hand from Akaashi’s shoulder to rub at his own neck. “I thought he would’ve told you.”

 

“Oh.” Akaashi was surprised at the lack of what he felt. It was certainly a surprise. In the options of what Bokuto had told to Akaashi all those late nights ago, California was never mentioned. But late offers weren’t rare, and Bokuto was a valuable asset to any team following nationals, be it local or abroad. Akaashi couldn’t be too surprised he didn’t tell him. He wasn’t a part of his future anymore. 

 

“Hey, listen to me.” Kuroo’s voice pulls him back out of the deep recess of his thoughts. “It’s not too late. You have to talk to Bokuto.”

 

“How is it ‘not too late,’ Kuroo-san,” Akaashi places his dented cup ramen back on the shelf and made to leave. “I’m not getting in the way of his plans.”

 

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying!”

 

Akaashi startles still at his raised voice. Kuroo’s eyes are back to their hard state, but there’s a sense of support in his gaze. 

 

“You’re not bringing him down. You’re not _going_ to bring him down, either.” Kuroo smiles his smile, and shoves Akaashi back around. “You’ll both figure it out. Now, go. Tell him what you told me and you let him decide. You owe him that, at least.”

 

He trips on his heels before teetering forward out the aisle. His heart hammers strangely in his chest, turning to catch Kuroo in the corner of his eye. “.....thank you, Kuroo-san.”

 

A cheeky grin meets him back. “Yeah, well, you owe me now, so.”

 

Akaashi resists rolling his eyes and moves around the shelves to the doors. There’s a creaking in the corner and Akaashi registers it coming from the ladder under the faulty light. The older cashier is climbing with a bulb box in hand, irritation in his jaw. He tries not to focus on how fatidic the whole situation seems and fingers the phone in his pocket instead. This perspective from Kuroo put him in a daze. He thought about Bokuto’s face as he leaned over him in that room, grasping him in both pain and longing and something more. He thought about the tightness in Bokuto’s own chest, in hearing his rejection, time and time again, with little explanation or understanding. Not knowing if and how it can be fixed. Akaashi always thought it would come clear to him as it did for himself, as he picked out his school and his team and realized there was no room for his once-setter without taking a step back. But Akaashi was starting to consider that maybe there was more than one answer.

 

It wasn’t fair what he was doing to Bokuto, he knew that. But all this time he thought it was the only option he had-- the only way he could keep him on the right path. But Kuroo was right: why did he ever think he could control what Bokuto did? He was an unstoppable concentration of power. He was before Akaashi had met him, and would be no matter what. Nothing would cause him to flicker out to dust. It was one of the reasons Akaashi loved him. 

 

He felt his chest tighten. He needed to make a decision. Turning away from the direction of his home, Akaashi pulls out his phone and dials a number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! What is happening.
> 
> I apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling errors, I've read over this time and time again and it's all blending together too much to tell.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. It's almost done.


	3. Kilanova

The dark is terrifying. The silence that often accompanies it makes it more so. 

 

Bokuto read in a book he found once— he can’t remember exactly when, but he remembers picking up an old textbook on a dusty checkered floor during a summer afternoon with a heavy head resting in his lap— that in space, there is no existence of sound. As a vacuum, the sound waves that would exist from hordes of monstrous rock and energy hurling around and into universes cannot travel. 

 

He remembers thinking about beyond the endless area of unknown that the universe and more already stood to the speck of Earth, how not hearing yourself even scream in that pitch black scared him cold.

 

He thinks about that fact as he stares at this bedroom ceiling. A stray streetlamp pulls just enough light to his window to see the dent above his head from juggling a volleyball a little too high when he was in primary school. He remembers the lecture from hell that followed about playing indoors. Even then, his eyes have adjusted to the dark that’s come with the night, since he fell to his bed many hours ago. 

 

He’s still in his uniform, poorly worn and smelling of sex and sweat. He stinks and he should take a shower, he knows. He’s glad his mother’s working late tonight or he’s not sure he’d be able to explain the state of him this time, both in and out. Earlier he considered going for a run, even though he went for a run in the morning, or walking around his neighborhood, or calling Mari-chan, or answering Kuroo’s phone calls. Anything to escape the silence that crushed him to his bed. 

 

He supposes he didn’t really hate the silence, not really, but the external quiet left his mind to internal ruin. Scenarios looped on autoplay, words never said and those he let slip by. Actions he took when he wish he had wrestled still. What if’s etched into perpetuance. He was, time and time again, defeated to his thoughts in the perceived vacuum. Unsure of the what and the how and the _why_.

 

Akaashi would know what to say, he considers, and almost lets slip a nasty laugh but the weight of his lungs seems too heavy right now. Akaashi always seems to know the answer, and while that used to bring him ease, now all he feels is pissed off. His throat aches in anger, shame and something else for what he could do to him in such a short time and without real reason-- how the one person he thought could ever love him as much as he did back could hurt him without a grain of hesitation. 

 

The silence seems louder and Bokuto’s eyes burn from his racing thoughts but he’s already cried today and so many days before that he’s not sure he has anything left tonight. The ceiling swirls dark patterns, flickered glints of light burning in the corners of its black—

 

The flickering, he starts with realization, is from his phone. He blinks and stretches his fingers, now coming more aware at how long he’s been lying there and allowing the sky to darken before him. Bokuto blows out a sigh, leaning over to grab the phone tossed at the floor by his bed. He supposes it’s about time to stop ignoring Kuroo after forgetting their plans to meet up-- and to Mari-chan, about blowing her off too, even though he could care less about karaoke and her endless warbling and anything else that wasn’t what he had three months ago. 

 

He clicks on the lock screen, scrolls through the missed alerts and holds his breath at the sight of the recent pings. 

 

What?

 

Why did he…call him?

 

He pulls up to a seated position. His heart is beating way, way too fast for a stupid notification. Maybe he buttdialed? Yeah, he thinks, wiping a hand over his face; even that straitlaced Akaashi can slip up and dial the wrong number. But there’s _three_ missed calls. And a message. 

 

Shit. Shitshitshit. 

 

He makes a strangled noise and pulls at his frozen hair strands to stop from throwing the phone. What the hell could he have to say now that he couldn’t say earlier? Why did he have to keep playing this annoying game of chase? Why, why, why. 

 

Maybe he should call Kuroo and just finally cry his eyes out to him. But he knows it won’t ebb the burn in his ribs and he’s not sure there’s anything that can at this point. When Akaashi told him he wanted end it, for good, today, he told himself this was it. He’d scream out his feelings and think about the taste of him and wake up tomorrow morning not longing for him ever again. 

 

But….what the hell does this all mean!?

 

He aims at an attempt to steady his pulse, fails, and opens the message anyways. 

 

It’s short. And cryptic. Typical of him, but he reads it. Once more. And again. 

 

_There’s something I need to tell you._  
_I’ll be waiting in the room._

 

He clicks his phone to sleep. Opens it back up, reads the message again, before putting his phone down. 

 

He knows he should feel more anger than he does. Knows he should delete the message and block his number, take a shower and crawl into his bed to sleep off this ache. 

 

He thinks to how dark the room has now become from his eyes being blown out by the brightness of the phone screen. How the silence is somehow even more unbearable, his thoughts screaming louder than before. 

 

He suddenly remembers more of that moment on that dirty floor, reading that textbook with Akaashi’s crown of soft swirls laying on his thighs and reiterating the facts about the silence and space to him while stroking that hair. 

 

“Mm, I read that one too,” he had said, voice soft and eyes almost sliding closed. “But Bokuto-san, that’s old.”

 

“Hm?” He didn’t understand, but felt a new calm as Akaashi’s fingers had tickled the skin on his ankle. 

 

“Well, that book was written years ago. It turns out there is sound in space.”

 

Bokuto remembers wondering if he’s ever showed that look on his face to anyone else when he tilted his head up from his lap to lock their eyes. 

 

“It’s just our ears can’t hear it.” he’d said, smiling a secret smile. 

 

Bokuto blinks in the dark. He pockets his phone before pulling himself off his bed and out the door. 

 

* * *

 

“One more!”

 

Akaashi watched sweat drip to his sneakers as he bent over, gulping for air.

 

“Akaashi! One more!”

 

“Alright!” His fingers slipped grasping a new ball from the bin before he returned to his position at the net. The gymnasium lights overhead beamed with a particular intensity overhead, betraying the night outside the building walls. 

 

Akaashi bent his knees and set the ball. There was exhaust in his wrists, sweat on both his and Bokuto’s palms, and it showed in the delivery of the play. Bokuto’s hand made contact but not enough— not hard enough, not fast enough, not enough of enough at any point this morning nor today nor right now in the lost hours of this December night. 

 

A quick play. Bokuto is flurried in the air, form bending like elastic. A spike is delivered to the far court, but nearly missed the line. “Shit!”

 

He wiped his hands on his shorts while Akaashi ran a palm to catch the sweat dripping into his eyes. “One more!”

 

In these moments, Akaashi has learned not to push back at Bokuto too hard but as he reached for the ball basket and found it empty, he noticed how Bokuto’s knees had begun to shake. “Bokuto-san.”

 

“What? Hurry up!”

 

“Bokuto-san, there are no more.” Akaashi looked to the clock at the doors. “It’s late, we should clean up.”

 

“No, just one more.” Bokuto’s moved from his sight, bent hazardously over a ball near the net post. “Let’s go.”

 

“Bokuto-san, you’re tired. Anymore and you’ll—”

 

“A couple more minutes. Come on—”

 

“—could be reckless, and injure yourself. Nationals is only a week—”

 

“Akaashi!” He felt the breath leave his body as he snapped his head to Bokuto holding the ball with shaking grip. “Stop getting in my way, dammit!”

 

Despite cracking, his voice echoed off the walls and burned at Akaashi’s ears. He felt a weight in his a chest, a confirmation of doubt, of questioning, of finality that forfeited its hold and tugged on his throat. The guillotine slid down on his heart’s exposed neck. He couldn’t see Bokuto’s face from this position but could see his frame shake from rage and exhaustion. 

 

Akaashi closed his eyes and steadied his breath. “Fine. Toss to yourself, then.”

 

“...Wait. Aka—” But Akaashi had already stepped out of the door and slammed it shut by then, quickly changed his indoor sneakers to his outer shoes and hurried to the club room. The biting December air should nip at his bare legs but he can’t feel it as he climbed the steps and slammed into the club room. His thoughts are jumbled and blood pumped loudly in his ears. There was a burning in his eyes but he blinked it away, a pointless effort. Maybe if he willed these feelings away they wouldn’t eat at him like they do. They wouldn’t be true. How Bokuto felt wouldn’t be…

 

He threw his sneakers at his locker. “Fuck!” 

 

Bokuto had been behaving stranger, he had noted, these weeks leading to Nationals. Later practices, less banter, avoiding Akaashi’s apartment. He knew he was stressed out, training his body for the tournament and figuring out where he would go following. He knew he was going to disappear but Akaashi didn’t realize it would be this sudden, this fast. He gripped at his chest, pulse pounding and making him dizzy. He knew this was inevitable. Akaashi was not at the same level, not even the same mindset as Bokuto. Someone whose dreams they could grasp on their own. Akaashi didn’t know his dreams. Bokuto’s dreams were his own. So he thought if he helped him enough and cleared his path, it would be different. If he honed himself he’d be the tool Bokuto needed. If he gave him the love he felt, it would nurture him. 

 

But tonight, in a moment of vulnerability, Bokuto confirmed his reality. Instead, Akaashi was dragging him by his ankles.

 

Akaashi leaned his head against the lockers. Sweat cooled at his neck and he blamed the shudder running through his chest on the change of temperature. He should go back out there. Bokuto needed him, one last time. 

 

After next week, after Nationals, he’d end it. He’d burn the brush for Bokuto to bloom. 

 

He grabbed his strewn shoes and exited the clubroom. The lights of the gym shone through high windows, a beacon of warmth in the moonless, winter night. Christmas day wasn’t the ideal time to be found at the high school gym but it was rid of distraction for Bokuto, and full of Bokuto for Akaashi. It was a moment of few left, he realized with tight lips, and it was one he couldn’t take for granted anymore. 

 

Akaashi changed his shoes and pulled at the doors, minding the creak of old hinges. Bokuto sat bundled near the net, head between crossed arms on bent knees. Battered volleyballs remained strewn over the court. 

 

His sneakers creaked at the floorboards and Bokuto shifted but didn’t raise his head. Akaashi stopped before his back. The air was heavy and smelled rank, like used sneakers, or called-out gameplays, or sweaty grins. 

 

“Bokuto-san.”

 

His arms tightened against his knees. “Sorry,” he muffled to the ground. 

 

Akaashi crouched, knees knocking at the crumbled body. He pulled at Bokuto’s sleeve. “Nationals is only a week away. You can’t push yourself like this.”

 

A sigh. “I know.”

 

“What’ll you do if you get hurt?”

 

“Gah. I know.” A hand unwrapped from his legs to grab at one of Akaashi’s ankles. His thumb brushed along the skin, soothing an indiscriminate pattern. “I know. I’m sorry.”

 

Akaashi swallowed the last bit of tightness that gripped his throat and lips pulled at Bokuto’s sunken figure. “We’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

Bokuto peeks an eye at his setter. “You promise?”

 

He paused. His heart betrayed him, beating fast under his stoic exterior. “Yeah.” 

 

* * *

 

March was still early enough to be cold yet late enough to not warrant a coat, but Akaashi still wished he had one. Sneaking through the back entrance through a busted door that didn’t lock all the way to find the old club room in the east wing wasn’t a feat he was proud of, nor was it one done easily. It had rained briefly just after he decided to turn around and head back to Fukurodani, which almost quelled his resolve but not enough. Not after he had already called Bokuto three times, each time hands sweatier than before, each time less prepared with what to say when that voice would pick up. 

 

When he didn’t answer, the pit in Akaashi’s chest dropped in both hurt and relief. He’s not sure he would answer either in his position, and doesn’t blame Bokuto for even considering deleting his number at this point. But with shaky fingers and blurry eyes he typed out a message on the train and headed to the school. 

 

Now hours later, slightly damp and definitely cold, sitting under the windows in the unlocked dirty room, Akaashi felt calm. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but no more than he had made over this past year. They were scarred into existence and he’d turned his back to them. But not anymore. 

 

Akaashi was comfortable with solitude. He concluded, with his eccentric thought processing and considerably unreadable disposition, he would eventually end up alone. He was fine with this. He had thought, I am in control of my life this way. 

 

But Bokuto Koutarou was a considerable exception. His alignment was exact, coordinates to Akaashi’s lost position set. From outward glance, he trespassed into the path of a quiet boy, but Akaashi knew better. Bokuto had pulled him from a muddled 15-going-on-16 year fog. That flying pose, cocked to spike a bullet of a ball was just the beginning to the neverend. 

 

Bokuto was his star plus everything left surrounding. 

 

He buries a smile into his knees. He can’t escape him. He’s not sure how he tried. 

 

He’s about to drift off before he hears a quick shuffling coming down the hallway. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain his late night stay in the old school wing to any passing guard but doesn’t have enough time to grasp for an excuse before the door is slid open. 

 

Pressured pants part the silence. Winged hair, wilting at day’s end, still shoots sharp and glooming above golden eyes. Bokuto’s catching his breath but his moves in to close the door with a solid snap. 

 

There’s no words, and moments painfully pass in weighted quiet. Akaashi can hear the pulse in his ears, can feel his chest pumping hard against raised knees. Bokuto’s stopped mere steps away, enough that Akaashi has to tilt his head and urge himself to not look away from those eyes. Eyes that gleam unreadable, unchallenged—threatening. He swallows. 

 

“Well.” Bokuto’s voice comes quiet but sharp. “What do you want?”

 

Akaashi releases the breath he’s been holding. Of all times they could be, his thoughts are shaky. He looks away, words clogged in his throat. 

 

Bokuto looks on, eyes narrowing. His teeth gnash and he turns. “What a waste. I’m leaving.”

 

“No— wait!” Akaashi pushes up from the wall. He’s so nervous but it doesn’t matter because all he can think about is making Bokuto turn back around. “I need— I need to explain.”

 

“Explain what? You’re the one who said there’s nothing more to say.”

 

“I know.” Bokuto turns back only to glare at Akaashi’s bowed head. “I know. But—”

 

“I’m tired of this, Akaashi.” He lets out a heavy sigh to the ceiling, hands raking at his hair. “I’m so tired of this game. I’m tired of putting out all this energy and giving you all these chances and getting shit in return. I’m trying to respect your wishes and get out of your life for good, ya know? I’m trying to accept it. But you can’t _do_ this to me.” 

 

Akaashi swallows, tangles his fingers together. “I know.”

 

“...So say it. Say what you have to say so I can go.”

 

He blinks at the tears, begs that they don’t fall so he doesn’t scare Bokuto off any more. “I don’t want you to go.”

 

Bokuto breathes in. “I don’t understand.”

 

Akaashi lifts his head. He can’t look him in the eye yet, but focuses on his shoulder, eyes locked to a loose button. One that Akaashi meant to fix last year, when Bokuto yanked off his jacket a little too hard after pushing him to his bed. He remembers picking up that jacket hours later, fingers tugging at the threads, nose buried in the lapels. 

 

“I’m not...as strong as you think I am. But I’ve been trying to convince myself that this was the only way for things to work. For us to go our separate ways. For you to move on—” Akaashi shudders, breath suddenly short but calms it. “To move on, without me. To not let me get in your way.”

 

Bokuto’s shifting in his watered vision. “In the way of my what?”

 

“...Of your dreams. Of your future. Of what you could be. What you are.” Akaashi’s face is wet and he can’t hide it anymore. “This whole year I felt like I was slowing you down. I was eating into the time you could spend with those who could help you grow. And I didn’t know how I was going to let you go when it became too hard for us to stay together.”

 

Bokuto turns fully towards him but Akaashi keeps talking. “You’re graduating, Bokuto-san. And you’re going to be an amazing volleyball player. You’re already an amazing player. You don’t need someone like me holding you back.”

 

He pulls in on himself, thinking of all the things he has left to say, but his voice feels too small in his mouth. Bokuto steps closer and he’s too afraid to look at his face. 

 

“So, what? You decided all of this yourself?” He sounds breathless. 

 

“...Yes. But—”

 

“But you did, right? Decided to just break things off before I could even think for myself? As long as you can save yourself the pain, right?”

 

He feels Bokuto’s hands grip his arms, breath puffing harshly at his face. His eyes are clenched shut. “How is that fair?! Didn't you think about how I would feel? How I’ve sat here, for months, wondering what I did, how I can change….how I would do _anything_ to get you back?”

 

“I’m sorry.” The words are quiet and broken. “I’m sorry.”

 

But his voice is suddenly muffled and it’s harder to breathe as he finds his nose buried in broad chest. The grip Bokuto has around his back is unbreakable, and there’s a shake to their bodies. It’s unclear who’s shuddering, but without the other they might fall. 

 

“You don’t have to worry, Akaashi. I’m going to have it all.”

 

Akaashi grips at his shoulders. “What?”

 

“I’m not going to stop.” Bokuto’s breath is sure and heavy against the side of his head. “I’m going to pursue volleyball and still love you, all the same. You’ve taught me that’s possible. You’ve helped me get here. Can’t you see that?” He grabs at Akaashi, palms holding their faces close. Gold eyes lock to gunmetal. “Can’t you?”

 

Akaashi can’t answer, or doesn’t dare to. He’s too embarrassed to be seen through and through but Bokuto smiles nonetheless. 

 

“I love you,” he says. “Do you still love me?”

 

Akaashi feels a few tears slip. Rough fingertips catch their path. “I’ll always love you, Bokuto-san.”

 

Bokuto’s lips are soft when he kisses them, betraying the hard exhale that leaves his lips to Akaashi’s parted mouth. He’s been holding in the anguish of rejection and Akaashi can feel it, in the way his hands shake through his hair, in the desperate chase of his lips against his. They break for breath, mouths still brushing against each other. Their hands are lost in each others clothes. 

 

“I thought I’d never be able to do this again,” Bokuto rasps, his lips ghosting pecks across his cheeks, his eyebrows, his chin. He’s mapping the face he knows as much as his own before claiming those lips again, teeth nipping in affection. 

 

Akaashi’s hands are up his shirt, rubbing at his sides and willing his body to warmth. He can’t believe how much he’s missed this, holding each other out of love and not filled with contempt. He swallows a sharp breath when he feels a hand pinch his nipple, Bokuto’s hands rushing between unbuttoning his shirt and feeling more. 

 

Before long his sleeves have slipped down to his elbows, Bokuto following in pursuit of his wandering hands. Wet kisses trail his neck, accompanied by whispers of nothing and everything—words forgotten, thoughts held back, ministrations of longing. Bokuto licks at his plucked nipple and his lips tighten as he feels teeth pull the flesh in fervor. 

 

“Keiji,” Bokuto drawls into his chest. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

 

He’s unsteady on his feet and they slump against the wall. Bokuto laughs, hands gentle on his abdomen. Akaashi pulls at his trousers before his hand slips in, gripping Bokuto’s hardening cock with ease. Lips move from his chest to bite at his shoulder, harsh breaths quickening as Akaashi strokes him to full staff. 

 

There’s a pull at his hips and they’re sliding to the floor. Bokuto cradles him by the neck, lining their bodies on the floor. Their lips meet, tongues slipping through and in and regaining familiarity. 

 

They separate, chests heaving. Bokuto shrugs out of his unbuttoned shirt and jacket, while Akaashi tugs at his trousers. “Sorry, I know the floor’s dirty.”

 

“It’s okay. I don’t care.” Not right now, when all Akaashi can think about is being connected to him once more.  


 

Bokuto leans up on his hands and undresses him. The shirt and jacket that bunched at his elbows is pulled off one sleeve at a time, fingers skating along the skin in their wake. He sits back on his heels to unbuckle Akaashi’s belt and unzip the fabric at his waist. Dark eyes watch his face the whole time, pulse quickening at the want that stains Bokuto’s expression. It feels different than just hours before, like they haven’t held each other in years. Bokuto looks at Akaashi’s bare legs like he’s seen them for the first time and he feels almost embarrassed and new to the whole thing. But Akaashi raises his leg to brush between Bokuto’s to beckon him back closer.

 

He’s on him immediately, hands slipping behind his balls to brush against puckered flesh. “It’s still wet from before,” Bokuto breathes out, almost unknowingly, but Akaashi swallows the words with his lips hard against Bokuto’s open mouth. Tongue traces teeth and molds with tongue as Bokuto fingers him without restraint. His need is slipping through and Akaashi doesn’t blame him; they both want it now and he’s parting his thighs to allow for Bokuto to slide another finger in. 

 

“Koutarou…” The name feels right on his tongue and Bokuto his gripping their dicks together, only for a moment. They’re panting into each other, fingers slipping at each others hips and bodies twisting. He needs it now, and he thinks he’s said it aloud because Bokuto’s suddenly lining their hips and pulling up his knees before sliding in. 

 

Akaashi sighs, now full and hot. Bokuto rocks in ache, finding stretch, reveling in tight heat. “Keiji, you feel so good,” He’s kissing at his jaw, golden eyes half lidded. He’s drugged on being inside him, on being so close to him again. 

 

Bokuto shifts to his elbows to pump his hips to his, setting a brutal pace. Nails grip into his back and Akaashi’s moans echo the walls surrounding them—it’s almost too much and Bokuto can feel a wetness to his eyes.

 

There’s tightness around him and he knows Akaashi’s close. He is too; it’s quick for both of them but they haven’t held each other like this in so long. “Can I come inside?”

 

Akaashi doesn’t answer but links his ankles to his back, rutting his hips to his own. The rhythm is frantic and out of tempo, slick hardness bouncing between their bellies before he tightens inside then comes, splashing at their chests. 

 

Bokuto follows not a beat later, staggering thrusts locking his cock inside, groans mixing with Akaashi’s own. His arms give out, falling off to the side but not pulling out just yet. His breath is strangled and Akaashi’s is too but he can hear him kissing _I love you_ into his mouth, lips languid on his own. 

 

Akaashi pulls his hips back, grunting as Bokuto slides out of him. A leg sneaks between thick thighs, pulling them closer. Akaashi is cold and naked and something’s digging into his side but he doesn’t care because right now, he’s stroking patterns around Bokuto’s chest. 

 

An arm slips under his head for support. Light fingers circle Bokuto’s nipple, eyelids heavy and drifting. “I missed you.”

 

There’s hands in his hair, stroking. Bokuto’s chest rumbles under his feathered touch. “I missed you.” He stiffens for a moment, shoulders tense, and Akaashi looks to him but can’t catch his gaze. “Listen, about Mari-chan…”

 

“Don’t.” He nestles his head closer, sliding hips together. “Not right now.”

 

Bokuto’s silent but nods against him. 

 

Akaashi can’t blame him for what he did. The hurt he feels, at knowing these hands have touched skin other than his, still burns at him. But right now, he wants to live in his arms. Free of knowing. Free of tomorrow. 

 

But Bokuto had no time to waste. “I want to talk about us, from now on.” They lock heavy eyes. “About after I graduate.”

 

“Okay,” Akaashi resigns. “I don’t want you to wait for me, Bokuto-san.”

 

Bokuto’s eyebrows twitch. “Huh?”

 

“Four years is a long time to be so far away, especially in America. I don’t expect you to be thinking of me every moment—”

 

“Wait, wait.” His words come out slow but loud. It startles Akaashi quiet. “...Where do you think I’m going to college?”

 

Akaashi blinked. “In...California?”

 

“What.” Bokuto blinked back. “I’m going to California for a week. For a training camp. I’ve been accepted to Chuo. Who told you I was going to study in America?”

 

Akaashi felt his face redden, and buried his head under Bokuto’s chin. “Forget what I said.” He could almost hear Kuroo cackling like the demon he was. “I need to kill somebody after this.”

 

Bokuto shook with laughter and slung an arm over Akaashi’s shoulders. “Jeez. Okay.” 

 

Even though Akaashi could feel his skin cooling to the spring air, Bokuto’s grip felt like it could warm him for the year. They breathed in tempo, nose digging into neck while a hand played along his back unwittingly. 

 

“You know,” Bokuto begins. “I once read a book in here about this galaxy.”

 

Akaashi cracked his eyes open. “Yeah?”

 

“I can’t remember the name…” He quiets in lingering thought but only for a moment. “...But there’s this galaxy. And it’s huge and it’s one of the most famous ones— the one they put in textbooks. Anyways, this galaxy, it’s got this twin. Well, it’s more like a smaller, baby galaxy hanging on to it.”

 

Akaashi feels his breath stutter. 

 

“The baby galaxy causes the bigger galaxy to spread out. Gives it a tail or something, but it makes it bigger and brighter. I remember reading that and thinking, ‘this sounds like Akaashi and me.’ Like you’re giving me the light to help me grow. Or something.”

 

He drifts quiet, and soon he’s dozing to sleep but Akaashi’s face is wet and hot against his neck. All this time they’ve been moving in tandem in the dark. Lightyears away but breathing for each other, dancing to their future in perpetuity. 

 

He smiles and kisses his galaxy. “I think so, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it.
> 
>  
> 
> I want to thank everyone who clicked, skimmed, read, liked, commented, committed a morsel of time to this. This was a lot of work and I'm happy to have completed it so I can grow and continue to write.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [what now?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17418836) by [hikari (sincerelysame)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelysame/pseuds/hikari)




End file.
